


Letters

by Lafaiette



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hope, Hurt/Comfort, Post Trespasser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:37:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5397983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafaiette/pseuds/Lafaiette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He closes his eyes and sighs, reclining on his chair, fingers twitching, heart aching, his very being longing to write everything down and let her know - even through inadequate means like written words - that he loves her, that he <i>truly</i> loves her, and always will.</p>
<p>Post Trespasser. In which Solas writes letters to Lavellan, but never sends them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters

_“My love…”_

He scratches that out and tries again.

_“Ma vhenan_ …”

He grits his teeth and crumples the piece of paper, throwing it into the fire. It’s not good, not good enough. How can he tell her how much he loves her, how can he describe his feelings for her, his desires, his adoration, with mere words written in ink?

How can he tell her that what he truly wants to do is stay with her, lose himself into her and spend a life of bliss together with something as bland as a letter?

He closes his eyes and sighs, reclining on his chair, fingers twitching, heart aching, his very being longing to write everything down and let her know - even through inadequate means like written words - that he loves her, that he _truly_ loves her, and always will.

His eyes snap open and he adjusts his seat in front of the huge oak desk, shaky, sweating fingers holding the quill over a new page. Would she still believe him if he told her those things? Would she cry in pain, regret, and rage and shake her head or would she cry in joy, smile, and try to send him a reply?

He swallows his own tears and starts to write.

_“Ma vhenan,”_ he bites his lips to stifle the sob growing in his mouth, _“I hope this letter finds you in good health.”_

It’s horrible. _Cliché_. Boring. Stupid. An overused sentence as if nothing bad has happened, as if he is just staying away from home for a few days and will soon go back to her.

That idea of domesticity, of normalcy, of peace is like a knife stabbing repeatedly his heart and he keens, resting his forehead against the hard surface of the table. He takes deep breaths, almost breaking in half the quill in his hand, then sits up and tries to continue, his sight blurred.

He writes more stupid, insipid thoughts. He tells her how beautiful the sunrise was that morning, instead of saying how beautiful _she_ is. He tells her he met a pack of wolves the other day, but doesn’t tell her that all he wants is to meet _her_ again. He tells her that his base is old and needs to be repaired, but doesn’t tell her that he dreams every night of their life together, in a cozy house hidden in a rich forest.

He doesn’t tell her that he dreams of their children and he concludes the letter with a sincere _“I love you.”_.

He closes the envelope before he can throw that one in the fire too and nearly runs out his room, leaving the letter on his desk, the weight on his heart heavier than ever.

Later, once he can’t think of any more duties to complete, he drags himself back into his quarters and sits at his desk with a grim, desperate expression. He claws the armrests of his chair, drilling a hole into the white envelope, his glare burning the bland words hidden inside.

An agent knocks and enters, politely asking if he needs anything else and if there are missives and messages to send for the next day.

“No.” Solas doesn’t even look at him, his eyes now staring at the still roaring fire. “No, you may go.”

The agent bows - even if he always tells them not to - and leaves. Solas’ eyes swell with tears and he reaches for the closed letter. He turns it in his hands, watching the warm droplets fall onto it and stain it, then summons a small flame to consume it.

Before he can think, the quill is back into his hand and he is writing down the letter he wanted to write since from the start, the one whose words and sentences and phrases are not overused, but true, the contents of his soul.

_“My heart,”_ he starts, _“I miss you more than I can express. No day passes that I do not think about you and long for your presence. I died the day I left you again.”_

This is the truth, this is what he wants to tell her, and it’s all so raw, so burning, that the ink seems to glow, its stark black in contrast against the yellowish color of the paper. He stops for a second, breathing heavily, then continues:

“ _Please, vhenan, tell me there is a way to stop this. Tell me there is another path, a solution to save this world and the Elves, that I do not have to do this, that I do not have to watch your world die. I want to believe in what you told me that day. I want to believe in our love. Tell me there is another way, that I am wrong once again.”_

He is openly crying now, his body wrecked by sobs and hiccups, and when he writes the last lines, his handwriting has become unsteady and shaky.

“ _The day we kissed, the very moment we told each other what we felt, everything changed. I was reborn, I suddenly woke up, all new for you in a faded world. Now I am falling asleep again, to reach a destination I do not enjoy anymore. This is my prayer to you, my greatest wish and desire: awaken me again before it is too late._

_I do not want to do this.”_

He has to look up from the desk to breathe better; his throat and chest are burning, his gasps and low cries fill the room, and he feels lonely, broken, alone.

_“There are no words powerful enough to convey my feelings for you. Please, no matter how things will end, always remember that I love you and I always will.”  
_

_Solas”_

He stares at the finished letter for what seem like hours. Then he puts it inside a new envelope, slowly rises, and goes to his bed, his sobs now subsided.

He rests down and presses the missive against his chest, close to his heart. Before falling asleep, before dreaming of her, of her smile, of her laughter, of her love, he thinks:

_‘Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will send her this.’_

It’s the first step on the new path he hopes will save them all.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who read [Var Lath](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4891531), you can imagine this as part of the fic, a scene that describes briefly what’s happening in Solas’ head and heart.


End file.
